


From Ashes Rise

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Spoilers for 5x21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't go quite like he planned.</p><p>Spoilers and speculation for 5x21 based on a photo making the rounds on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Ashes Rise

It doesn’t go quite like he planned.

He’d done it before, a smug smile and a _sorry about the mess_ and been met with the most joyous smile he’d ever seen on Emma’s face, a flurry of blonde hair and the glorious feeling of her crushed against him as she tackled him to her bed.

The exact words even come to him as he sees her. The flask she’s holding almost makes it too easy. He stands behind her off to one side, his heart racing (he’d forgotten how that felt, the heady surge in his chest and something inside him cracks at the sensation) as he watches her take a pull -- rum, no doubt -- for herself before pouring a generous portion over the still-soft earth.

It’s all right there, the perfect setup, the _bloody waste of it, love_ just begging to be voiced, and then she speaks and the words die on his lips.

“I miss you.”

Her voice is sad and small, but it’s _hers_ and he never thought he’d hear it again and he’s lost his ability to speak, let alone make some bloody joke.

Her shoulders hunch and he can hear the tears coming through in her words, unable to see her eyes from this vantage point.

“I know I promised, Killian. And I’m going to try. But I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing you.”

He can’t take the charade any longer, furious with himself for even considering teasing her, for making her wait even one more moment than necessary to reveal himself, but his feet remain rooted to their spot and his legs refuse to work. It’s just how she sounded at the elevator, raw and defeated and he never wants to hear it again. In the end he can only manage one word.

“Emma.” It’s dry and croaked-out but he knows she hears him when the shaking of her shoulders stills.

She stands frozen for a long moment, the flask falling to the ground as she finally turns, her grip on the umbrella failing as it too falls away. Her eyes are as he remembers them last, damp and bloodshot and broken and --

\-- disbelieving.

“You’re not real,” she whispers, stepping back with a minute shake of her head.

“Emma -- “

“ _No_.” Her tears come freely now. “Either I’m crazy or you made some kind of deal to show up here and you _promised_.” The force of her words nearly knocks him back. “You promised me you’d move on! Killian, I can’t _do_ this again, I can’t look at you and say goodbye one more time -- “

That’s what finally gets him moving, legs working of their own volition as he covers the distance between them, hook sliding behind her back as his hand finds her face.

“Emma, love, Emma, _Emma_ ,” is all he can whisper at first, wiping away the tears and fresh raindrops with his thumb. “You’re not crazy.”

Her hands grip at his lapels. “You can’t be real. You’re in the ground, I _saw_ you.” There’s no hope in her expression. It’s so far from the ecstatic reunion he’d been expecting that he can’t do anything but hold her, let her feel him under her palms as they splay over his chest, let her look in his eyes and feel the truth of his words when he finds his voice once more.

“I’m real, Emma. I’m _here_. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She reaches up with shaking hands and it’s a job to not let his eyes fall closed when her fingers caress his face, sliding gently over his stubble and pressing into his cheeks. She leaves one hand there, catching his tears with her thumb while the other combs through his hair.

He knows he won’t have the strength to say goodbye to this again, either.

She can’t seem to stop touching him. He watches her carefully, disbelief returning to her eyes for a different reason now as she maps his face, fingertips sliding over his brow and nose and chin and finally his lips.

He can’t feel the rain anymore, not with her breath hot on his neck as she sways into him. Not when he sees the precise moment she accepts, believes, _trusts_ that he’s not some figment of her imagination or a bloody parlor trick just so he can see her once more.

He can’t go another moment without kissing her.

His lips swallow her incredulous “ _How?_ ” and they cling to each other with the same fierceness that wasn’t enough in the Underworld, pulling together close and tight and warm, she’s so _warm_ in his arms like this.

 _In his arms_. He doesn’t know how he remains standing.

She tastes of the salt of both their tears and love and _life_ and he knows he should explain, tell her about Zeus and the rest but he could no sooner stop kissing her than he could stop breathing. And so he waits for her just as he’s always done. Waits until her lips soften against his and her hand settles over his chest, pressed just over his heart. Waits until he can feel the corners of her mouth lifting against his in a tremulous smile.

When she finally pulls back she’s not even looking at him, her eyes trained on her hand and the pulse she feels beneath.

It turns out you don’t need to split a heart to share one.


End file.
